


Don't Ruin This on Me

by LizzieHarker



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And I will never not be angry about it, Because things should have ended differently, Fix-It, M/M, Not Arrowsverse Compliant, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Other, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Time Travel, bucky deserves better, hints of polyamory, the ending we deserved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 03:12:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18886012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieHarker/pseuds/LizzieHarker
Summary: Honestly, Steve thought returning the Infinity Stones would be harder. Other than a slightly increasing discomfort—probably the whole running across time deal—things went pretty smooth. He wished he hadn’t gone alone, though.





	Don't Ruin This on Me

**Author's Note:**

> So far, Endgame is the only movie that's made me angrier the more I think about it. So I'm gonna pretend it never fucking happened with the exception of praising America's Ass and the whole 2012 sequence. 
> 
> Not beta'ed. Not-Arrowsverse compliant. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming soon.

Bucky stuffed his hands into Steve’s black jacket. He’d unabashedly stolen it from him; whatever made Steve think he wore a size small probably compelled him to set out on a solo quest to return the infinity stones. For the record, that thing was gross stupidity. As much as Bucky wanted to quip and joke, he knew Steve’s trip was gonna last a hell of a lot longer than five seconds. The smile he desperately wanted to feel twitched and died.

“I’m gonna miss you, buddy.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck,” Steve answered, clapping a hand to his shoulder. And then he turned away, picked up the briefcase and the hammer, and vanished.

Even if they hadn’t discussed it the night before, Buck wouldn’t have been surprised when five seconds later, Bruce failed to bring Steve back. His heart broke all over again with Steve’s decision to return to the past, an absence he’d feel the rest of his life now that he was the only man out of time.

*

Honestly, Steve thought returning the Infinity Stones would be harder. Other than a slightly increasing discomfort—probably the whole running across time deal—things went pretty smooth. He wished he hadn’t gone alone, though. Buck would have laughed at him trying to dance around Howard Stark, or his wide-eyed wonder at Asgard. Hell, Buck would have been equally impressed. He’d have been just as dumbfounded as Steve when they’d gotten to Vormir and the cloaked figured charged with guarding the Soul Stone tossed back his hood and revealed himself as Red Skull, his welcome speech sidelined into, “Steven Rogers, son of—a bitch, you’re still alive?”

He’d have gotten in a shot or two before they tossed the stone back onto the rocks and woke up in a puddle, Natasha smirking at them before kicking water in their faces. Instead, Steve took the teasing solo, the invisible band around his chest growing tighter. 

“What took you so long?”

Steve wrapped Nat in his arms and held her fast for a long time. Losing her had been nearly as bad as losing Buck, and Bruce’s inability to snap her back into existence gutted them all. She slugged him in the arm when he finally leg go, but stole a second hug as they popped back into the present to drop her off at Barton’s place. Steve vanished again as soon as Nat opened Clint’s door. That reunion wasn’t for him; he was good with that. What came next, though…

The tiny yellow house stood alone on the street, the curtains fluttering in the breeze. The scent of spring lingered in the air, fresh cut grass and flowers. A bee buzzed in the garden. For a moment, he stood there, too nervous to knock on the door, for once in his life debating whether this was a good idea.

In Steve’s defense, it’d seemed great last night, but now he wished Buck really was at his side. Drawing in a deep breath, Steve mounted the stairs and stopped at the white door. All he needed to do was knock. If she wasn’t home, he could leave, say he tried, could—

And there she was, her chestnut brown hair in victory rolls, her signature red on her lips, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Steve?”

A lopsided smile curved his lips. “Sorry I’m late.”

Peggy darted out to peer around before pulling him roughly into the house. “What in the bloody hell is this? How—who are you?”

“We had a date. 8pm on the dot. I know I’m a couple decades past that, and,” Steve paused, swallowing. He hadn’t missed the wedding photo on the mantle. “I was hoping we could still have that dance.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re dead. We searched for you. For the Valkyrie. Howard never stopped looking,” she said. “If you’re Steve, then tell me something no one else would know.”

Steve blinked. Of course, he couldn’t just waltz back into Peggy’s life. What could he offer her? “Are we alone?”

“We are.”

“You used to love the way your red lipstick looked on me, whether you were leaving kisses or painting my mouth. Or Bucky’s. Or insisting I kiss him.”

Peggy’s composure faltered a hair, the curt nod she gave her only sign of surprise. “Steven, how are you here? You didn’t simply wake up and seek me out. The media would have caught word. And you’re not the Steve I knew. He’d never speak so plainly.”

Steve blushed, failing to hide his smile. Peggy always knew. And Peggy had always been right. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m the Steve Rogers from the future?”

“I supposed I’d have little choice,” Peggy answered. “Do go on.”

“Wish I could. I don’t have a lot time, but I thought seeing you was important enough to risk the consequences.” Gently, Steve reached out to cup his hand to Peggy’s cheek. He’d been helplessly in love with her, the old bittersweet tug at his heart drawing him closer. 

Peggy closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. “One dance.”

“Hate to break it to you, Peg, but I never take lessons in the future. Still don’t know what I’m doing.”

She laughed, soft and deep. “I’d expect nothing less. Something simple, then. I’ll show you how.”

*

Six months passed agonizingly slow. Natasha had come back to Tony’s cabin, but the atmosphere felt wrong without Stark. Buck had never gotten to make amends, and it weighed on him in a way that almost distracted him from heartbreak. Eventually he’d run out of work to do and then what? He had Natasha. He’d been piecing together their history bit by bit, merging the memories of the fucked up teenager who wanted to be a ballerina and the deadly assassin he’d help shape her into with the bright, settled woman who sat beside him in silence. Turns out they’d never really needed words.

He had Clint, his fellow brainwashed buddy who brought his dog, Lucky, whenever he came to visit. He had Sam. He hadn’t gotten to know anyone else before the snap, and well . . .at least he was outside, in clean jeans and a shirt, his hair washed and teeth brushed. It took him longer than he’d have liked to realize Bruce was on the move, heading back toward the time portal bullshit thing. The only word he caught was “Steve,” and that was enough to propel him forward, following with Sam in his wake. 

Bruce manipulated the dials on the device, the air above the platform flashing, but no one appeared.

“Steve missed his re-entry point,” Bruce muttered. “Flew right past it.”

Of fucking course. It seemed Buck would never get enough of losing Steve. He shook his head, shifting his gaze beyond the platform, and there. A figure on the bench that hadn’t been there a moment ago. A baggy beige coat, slicked back hair. A round case propped up beside him. Steven fucking Rogers. 

Buck ribbed Sam with his elbow, nodding. “Go on.” He couldn’t stomach it, talking to Steve. Not after this. A thread of betrayal flared beneath the heartache. Steven Fucking Rogers had always been a stubborn son of a bitch, but he’d never left Bucky behind. Sam had counseled him not to indulge in anger, but Buck felt pretty fucking angry with his best friend. He’d been forced to reconcile his feelings alone. He’d always loved Steve; realizing he’d been in love felt like dying all over again.

Like losing Steve all over again.

Sam held the shield, casting a glance over his shoulder at Bucky before walking across the clearing toward him. “Hey, Barnes. I think you’re up next.”

Oh fucking hell. “Don’t think I’m getting a legacy bequeathed to me. Don’t know I wanna talk to him,” he said, his heart and head screaming in opposition.

“Nah, man. Pretty sure this ain’t what you think.”

Sighing, Buck forced himself to look up, at the Steve on the bench, and his breath caught in his throat as Steve stood and turned around. Thin shoulders, his suspenders refusing to stay up, floppy blond bangs, the too-large coat. But that Steve—the look in his eye—that Steve was Bucky’s Steve, pre-serum but post-war and all together impossible in too many ways to describe.

Steve stopped before him, giving a half-hearted shrug. “Turns out prolonged exposure to Pym Particles doesn’t agree with the serum. I got stuck halfway home, had to lie my way into a couple of vaccinations, but,” he said, spreading his arms, “here I am.”

Buck shook his head. No. No way. It’d been six months—what, half an hour for Steve?—and . . .

“I’m torn between socking you in the jaw and kissing you so hard, you won’t get outta bed for a week.”

He just laughed, the old, deeply familiar sound ending in a cough. “Please don’t punch me. I’m a little lightheaded from all the weird time shit, but I wouldn’t protest a week in bed with you.”

Bucky’s brain short circuited. No other explanation seemed plausible, but here Stevie stood, the Buck remembered from a million shattered images, and before he realized he’d moved, he’d tucked Steve beneath his chin, both arms wrapped around him. If he fucking vanished again, Bucky Barnes would damn well lose what mind he’d recovered.

Steve patted his back, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Sorry to worry you. I need to see her, Buck. Say goodbye. It felt good, and now I wanna try getting some of that life Tony always talked about.”

Buck squeezed him tight. He hadn’t been abandoned. Steve had come back for him. Steve always came back. “Punk.”

Steve chuckled, pulling back enough to brush a kiss across Bucky’s lips. “I love you, too, jerk.”

“You’re staying? You’re—“ but Bucky couldn’t force real from his throat.

“In all my asthmatic glory.” He looked down, giving another shrug. “The work I’ve done getting into shape seems to have helped my scoliosis and modern medicine is basically a miracle. I know it’s not ideal, but I thought—“

“You’re perfect,” Buck said before cutting Steve off with another kiss.

And good as his word, once they’d made it back to Brooklyn, Buck made damn sure Steve didn’t leave that bed for days.


End file.
